The Shrine's archway shimmered as Caelum disappeared beyond its threshold. The storm's remnants whispered through the valley, carrying the scent of frost and the faint echoes of something ancient stirring awake.
On the ridge where the villain fell, shards of frozen shadow began to twitch. Black mist pooled around them, coiling together like snakes. A low hum pulsed through the ground — not quite alive, but not entirely dead.
Far above, unseen in the shifting clouds, three silhouettes watched the ruin below: one wreathed in a mantle of crackling winds, another cloaked in robes of embered flame, and the third crowned by drifting snow.
"The first has entered," murmured a voice as soft as falling ash.
"The threads grow taut," rasped a second, anger simmering beneath each word.
A third voice, bright as spring air, laughed softly. "It's almost time."
Lightning flickered across the sky, illuminating their faces — each a mirror of the others, each wearing eyes that belonged to the same soul.